


Captain America Winter Soldier Ficlets

by FeralCreed



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 14:39:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2471888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeralCreed/pseuds/FeralCreed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random Stucky ficlets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Shh,” Steve whispered. “It's okay.” He knelt in front of Bucky and reached up to cup Bucky's jaw in his hand. He moved his thumb across Bucky's cheekbone, wiping away the tear that had spilled over. “Don't worry about what happened,” Steve told him. “It's okay now. You're safe. I'm here.”

Bucky gave a sharp exhalation, inhaling deeply before letting out another slower breath. He didn't trust himself to speak but nodded his head. His metal digits, glittering coldly in the nightlight's faint glow, curled over Steve's warm fingers. With his free hand, Steve gently eased Bucky back into a laying down position, letting their fingers stay curled together. They stayed there, silently, for long moments, until Bucky's breathing evened.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he whispered softly. Something deep in his heart ached as he remembered all the other nights when Bucky had woke screaming. “Don't worry about anything. As long as I'm here I'll protect you.”

“Stay with me?” Bucky asked in a soft, nearly unintelligible voice. His begging eyes touched that same deep spot in Steve's heart, their dark brown depths soothing every pain Steve had ever felt.

“Okay,” Steve agreed quietly. Bucky moved away from the edge of the bed, pressing his back against the wall. Steve sat on the bed and swung his feet up onto the end. He lay on his back, putting one hand palm up on the sheets between them. Bucky took it with his right hand, sliding his fingers across Steve's palm and wrapping them around his knuckles.

Steve was nearly asleep when Bucky moved. He laid his head on Steve's shoulder, still holding his hand between them. His metal arm draped carelessly across his waist, and Steve took it in his other hand, cradling Bucky against his torso. Bucky gave a soft, shuddering sigh and pressed the side of his face against Steve's shirt. Bucky never heard the quiet words that Steve had whispered over his sleeping form. “I will guard you close,” he whispered, “and never let you go.”

Morning found them in the same position, drawing hope from each other and not a little bit of comfort. Steve woke first but laid still, letting Bucky sleep on. From the corner of his eye, he could catch only a glimpse of tousled brown hair and red-starred metal, but he could picture exactly what Bucky's face looked like. Unable to help himself, Steve drew his arms just a tiny bit tighter around Bucky, dropping his chin so he could breathe in Bucky's smell.

Bucky stayed in peaceful slumber for a few more moments before beginning to wake. He murmured a soft, wordless nothing as the morning sun's rays shifted to light up the room, gilding both their faces. Steve chuckled softly and gently laid his lips against Bucky's cheek just under the ear. Casually twisting out of Steve's embrace, Bucky leaned back against the wall and let a thin potential ghost of a smile cross his face for a moment. It was a moment of peaceful trust, that happened only when Bucky woke to their mutual comfort. In those times Steve was most thankful.


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you ever remember the day you fell?” Steve asked as the final scene of the old movie concluded. Bucky's fingers tightened around Steve's hand for a moment, nearly crushing the bones before relaxing. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked,” Steve instantly apologized.

“No,” Bucky said softly. “It's okay. Sometimes I think I need to tell something. Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“I'll hear anything you want to tell me,” Steve promised. “Whatever it is, I don't care.”

Bucky leaned closer against Steve's shoulder, pushing his feet against the far arm of the couch. “For a long time I wasn't sure if I was remembering my life or what someone wanted me to remember,” he confessed. With that one sentence it was like a mental dam burst, and Bucky was pouring out confessions regardless of the words. He'd cursed America for letting him fight, Steve for letting him fall, God for letting him be born. He'd been kenneled like a dog, chained to the walls of an old Russian dungeon night after night. When he lost in training sessions they'd beat him into unconsciousness. They cut and probed the skin around his left shoulder regardless of his pain. Mission after mission, they'd made him kill until they'd taught him to lust for blood even as a corner of his soul screamed for help. “And they told me you'd turned your back on me,” he finished, voice trembling with pain instead of anger. “That they'd offered you a chance to rescue me but that you'd told them to kill me.”

“No,” Steve choked out, barely able to breathe. How could they have twisted Bucky into believing that? “I swear I would have done anything to find you.”

“At first I knew that. But when you didn't come I started giving up on you. I thought they were right.” The last fortified reserve broke and Bucky was sobbing into Steve's shoulder. “They always told me I could ask them one question before they destroyed my memories. I asked them to let me kill you. I wanted you to be mine, to make you hurt as much as I did. But I couldn't do it in the end. You pulled me back to you when it really mattered.”

“When 'it' really mattered?” Steve asked, embracing Bucky tightly. “No, Bucky. It was when you really mattered. You always mattered more than anything else.”

“Take the blood away,” Bucky whispered. “When I wake up I can still smell it. I can see the faces of the innocent men I ripped apart. Tell me I can be forgiven even if you're lying.”

“It's not a lie,” Steve promised. “Somehow I'll make everything right. You always did everything for me before but now I can help you. Please let me.”

“Can you hide me from the world? For years I scrawled my name in blood. There's too much red to change. It can't happen.”

“Do you believe in me?” Steve asked quietly.

“In that little kid from Brooklyn that was too dumb to run away from a fight,” Bucky answered, a flicker of a laugh mixing with his sob.

“Then it'll all be okay,” Steve promised. As the end credits of the movie finished, he pulled Bucky's head down onto his shoulder. Like a child in a thunderstorm, Bucky leaned against Steve and offered a silent request for salvation. Steve heard the words Bucky didn't dare to speak.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve sighed, staring at the smoking pot on the stove. Tony Stark had helped him choose new appliances after he and Bucky had moved here, and Steve still wasn't quite sure how to handle all of them. He had been planning on making breakfast, but now it looked like that wasn't going to happen. Taking a towel, Steve wrapped the pot handle in it and carefully deposited it in the sink. He and Bucky would have to get something on the way to their meeting with the Avengers if they were going to be on time.

Steve opened the window to let some of the smoke clear. At least the fire alarms hadn't been set off. Come to think of it, Steve wasn't sure they even worked. In the apartment across the street, an old lady stared suspiciously at him. He smiled and waved at her and she disappeared back into her apartment. With one last rueful glance at 'breakfast', Steve went down the hall to Bucky's room. Murmured voices met his ears and he paused, wary of some sort of trap. But after a few moments he realized there was only one voice, one he recognized.

“I don't know what I'm doing,” Bucky confessed. “Steve's trying so hard to tell me he can help me but I still haven't let him. But I trust him more than anyone. What if he gives up on me?” A pause. “I used to be able to do everything for him but now I'm depending on him.” Another pause. “I need him.”

Steve quietly retreated back to the kitchen. It sounded like Bucky had been – praying? He wasn't sure what to think of what he'd heard. A faint odor crept into the kitchen, disguised by the smells from the streets below. The scuff of boots in the hallway was covered by honking car horns. Pulling out a chair from the kitchen table, Steve sat down, wondering when he'd gotten to be so tired.

When the squad of Hydra agents quietly picked the lock and swung the door open, Steve was asleep. But the noise had alerted Bucky, who had quietly moved to the doorway of his bedroom to watch. His face showed no recognition for the men, although he had worked with most of them during the early years of his career. They moved cautiously, quietly, toward the kitchen. Bucky went to the dresser by his bed, pulling an automatic pistol from the top drawer. He paused just before exiting the room, then kicked the door to the wall and stepped out, shooting with each step.

In the kitchen, Steve struggled with one of the Hydra assassins while the others turned their rifles toward Bucky. A bullet sparked off his left arm, but neither of the others tried to shoot. Bucky closed with them, hand to hand, and left them alive but unconscious on the floor. Taking a running leap, he tackled the sixth man just as he raised his gun to Steve's temple. The bullet drilled into the ceiling, but the shooter never knew.

“Steve,” Bucky said urgently, supporting him as he leaned against the wall. “We've been compromised, we're leaving.” Steve seemed not to understand Bucky's words, simply nodding along before nearly falling asleep again. From the street, Bucky caught the flash of a weapon and a puff of smoke. He threw his body against Steve's, pushing them both into the hallway of their apartment, just as their kitchen caught on fire. Using Steve's shield to protect them from the debris and heat, Bucky dragged Steve through the apartment into the hallway. Screaming civilians pushed past them, nearly trampling them until they saw Bucky's pistol and metal arm.

Another squad of armed men appeared at the bottom of the staircase and Bucky turned his back to them, deflecting their first burst of gunfire with the shield. Steve had finally come back to his senses and tried to follow his friend down the hallway, but he still needed support. Bucky's planted directive told him to attack the agents, snarling and killing, but he made himself run. He didn't want to fight, he told himself. They would have chances for that later. Steve realized Bucky's choice and smiled.


	4. Chapter 4

“What the hell is that?” Bucky asked, coming into the dormitory and stopping short.

Steve looked up from the box, startled, but relaxed when he saw Bucky. “The kitchen of our apartment was destroyed, but most of the rest of our stuff was saved. Hawkeye helped me carry it up, although there wasn't much.” He held up the object Bucky had questioned. “This is an album from when we were kids. I guess it was part of some kind of background check. Tony found most of it. A lot of it was in the files released from S.H.I.E.L.D.” Bucky said nothing, but set his bag down on his bed.

“We were both a lot different back then,” Steve said with a chuckle. “Here's our pictures from the high school yearbook, same year. And this one was taken at a party somewhere. You always invited me to those things. And in this one we're in the background. The night before you shipped out for England, we went to that science fair. Howard Stark had a flying car prototype.”

“Howard Stark?” Bucky repeated.

“Do you remember him?” Steve asked, looking up from the picture.

Bucky took the picture, studying the grainy black-and-white face before handing it back. “I remember – now – that I saw him somewhere with you. The last time we met he was just a target.” An awkward silence followed for several moments, until Bucky handed the picture back.

“Do you ever wish none of that ever happened?” Steve asked. “Enlisting in the war, being friends?”

“Because they experimented on me because I was your best friend?”

The stack of pictures dropped to the bed and floor. Steve stood, paralyzed, staring at Bucky. “You knew?” he asked, his voice cracking.

Bucky shook his head. “Guessed, but never knew. Not until I asked the computers in the library downstairs late night. There's some sort of intelligence on them that answers verbal questions. Stark calls it Jarvis. I used it to search the documents Romanoff released.”

“I'm sorry,” Steve said.

“It wasn't your fault,” Bucky replied automatically, knowing what he was supposed to say.

“You're hurt?”

“What?”

Steve led Bucky to the bathroom and rolled up his shirt sleeve. A long, thin cut crossed his forearm on a diagonal. Bucky let Steve dab at it with paper towels and quietly accepted the order to hold a wad of paper towels in place to stop the bleeding. He lowered his chin, letting his hair hide his face until Steve brushed it away. He turned aside, brushing under his eyes with his hand.

“I'm sorry,” Steve repeated.

“It wasn't your fault.” Bucky repeated his words as well, but this time they both believed him.

Late that night, listening to the silence of the room, Bucky matched his breathing to Steve's. Even and deep, in and out. The slow repetition comforted him, and as he fell asleep himself he reminded himself there was more in life than killing. There was the inactivity of a dark night when you knew you belonged.


	5. Chapter 5

“Bad idea,” Bucky commented as he leaned across the space between their beds, hooking a finger over the top of the newspaper and pulling it down so he could see the rest of Steve's face.

“What?” Steve asked, folding the paper.

“Trying to find a job.” Bucky extracted his finger “You're circling things with a pencil and frowning, it wasn't hard to figure out.”

“Why shouldn't I? The Avengers have money, but they can't support us forever unless I get a job.”

“It would be easier for me to get the money we need,” Bucky said quietly. “You wouldn't know a desk job half as well as I know my work.”

“It would be safer for me to do something.”

“And leave me here with a group of strangers that are only letting me live because I'm your friend?”

Steve sighed. “If you get back into the industry, I won't be able to help you if you get caught.”

“The times I was out of the ice made up seven years. Seven years, and I wasn't followed even once. If we need money, I'm the best one to get it. One day for my work would equal months of yours.”

“You're right from a logical view, but I can't let you do that, Bucky. The others won't trust you if you keep disappearing to go kill people. Normal people support themselves on normal jobs just fine. We're far from normal, but we can make it.”

“Fine,” Bucky said.

Steve reached his hand out and covered Bucky's with it. “I'm not saying I don't appreciate what you're offering to do. I understand that you want to help, that you want to do something. But I need a friend, not a killer, when I come home. And it would be all too easy for someone to double-cross us and kill you.”

“Seven years,” Bucky repeated quietly.

“For me?” Steve asked.

“Dammit,” Bucky sighed. They both knew what the outcome was now. “Okay.” A shudder rippled across his skin.

“Shivering?” Steve asked. Bucky shrugged. “You'd think with all of Stark's money, the heating wouldn't break in the middle of winter,” Steve remarked. “C'mere.” Bucky moved to sit on the bed beside him and Steve pulled a blanket across both their shoulders. He opened the paper to a different section and commented, “When we were kids, we used to read the comics for hours.”

Bucky managed a smile and tilted his head so he could see the colored images. Steve laid the paper across both their knees and leaned his shoulder against Bucky's. They took turns reading the captions and speech bubbles, Steve occasionally chuckling over a witty line. As Bucky puzzled about the meaning of a slang term, Steve's eyes drifted to his face and he smiled. Even if some of the other Avengers might not trust him, Steve knew his friend. Everything else in the world could go to hell, as it most likely would eventually. Bucky was saved.


End file.
